Lost Traditions and Fading Communities

This might be a sore subject. But as someone who’s a bit of a nomad and traveller, one thing I notice every time I roll into a new port, city, or neighbourhood is the vibe. Sometimes, you’re made to feel welcome and that like family, you’ll be missed when you leave. But more and more often, I find communities becoming closed off, sometimes even from themselves.

We talk about globalisation as if it’s made us more connected—that we can reach anyone, anywhere, anytime. But that idea feels increasingly false. Instead of becoming better communicators, we’re drifting further apart. We’ve lost touch with the key pillars of community: being present, caring and holding traditions.

Still, even in the clouds, there are rays of sunshine. One such moment came recently, when a friend of mine—someone who grew up in the Caribbean—told me, unprompted, that he would dance at my wedding. I was taken aback. I’d only just started dating seriously again, and definitely wasn’t planning a wedding. But after a quick explanation, I realised what he meant; that our friendship would stand the test of time, and that one day, if the moment came, he’d be there to celebrate it with me.

That small exchange stuck with me. It made me ask myself: How can I show up more authentically for the people I care about?

As someone who’s usually away; travelling, working at sea, living out of a duffel bag, I decided early on that I’d have to make an effort. To call and check in. To come home at the flick of a switch. To hold space and really listen, even from afar. To put time and energy into the people I love, above anything else. Because no one’s going to remember how many stanchions you polished—but they will remember how you made them feel. How you showed up.

Part of what we’ve lost along the way is the analog. That’s a big part of why I’m drawn to film photography. But honestly, it runs deeper. I’ve always had a soft spot for the timeless—the hum of a classic car, the crackle of a vinyl record, the pages and smell of a first edition.

One of my struggles, though, is sharing that interest without feeling cliché. Sometimes I look around and feel like everyone has a film camera now—because it’s fashionable, trendy, Instagram-friendly. But for me, it’s more than a look. It’s a way of holding onto something real. A slower rhythm. A connection to the past that still fits in the present.